The Pact
by ICRepresentative
Summary: Based on the novel by Jodi Picault. The pressure is on as a high profile case tests both nerves and friendships, while the case itself is echoing eeriely with the histories of the members of the CSI team.
1. Where We Lay Our Scene

**Disclaimer**: _The Pact_ belongs to Jodi Picault, CSI to the big-wig execs who run the show.

**A/N**: I wasn't going to post this until I had finished writing it, but I figure that a little bit of deadline might help get me motivated. Anyway, this is the result of the previous stories, _Desperate_ and _Tunnel Vision_, and is based on Jodi Picault's bestseller _The Pact_. I hope you like.

* * *

Sunlight shone bright over the city of Las Vegas. Where once were neon lights that shone endlessly into the night, attracting people like moths to the bright warm dens of money, now shone the harsh light of the sun that turned the desert to flame. The asphalt began to simmer, sending up a mirage distorted by the sunlight glinting off the glass and the steel of the buildings that loomed high over the city. 

Inside the casinos, convenience stores and diners that lined the streets of the city, however, people didn't feel the heat. People shopped, gambled, or sat having breakfast. Two people in particular were involved in animated conversation, laughing and chatting about, of all things, makeup.

"… And then my sisters all ganged up on me, tied me to a chair, and used me as their test subject." The man grinned, a little sheepishly. The woman laughed, throwing her head back.

"You're kidding!"

The man shook his head. "Nope. Wish I was."

The woman laughed again. "Well, I'm sure you were made to look very pretty."

The man rolled his eyes. "Puh-lease. Everything I ate tasted like lipstick for a week!"

"I repeat, very pretty."

"Like you?"

The woman looked aside, suddenly looking uncomfortable. After an awkward silence, she turned to wave at the waitress for the check.

"What?"

The woman turned back to the man and frowned slightly. "What do you mean, 'what'?"

The man smiled. "You don't take compliments very well, do you, Val?"

The woman smiled back, but her smile was slightly sad. "No. Not really."

Nick stared at her for a minute, then the waitress arrived with the cheque. Nick reached for it, but Val's hand was faster.

"Nuh-uh," Nick said, holding his hand out for the bill, "I'm paying."

Val raised an eyebrow. "Nick, this isn't a date. You don't have to pay for us both."

"But I insist." Nick grinned back.

"But I decline," Val said. "I'll pay." Nick reached across the table to try and grab the cheque from out of Val's hand, but she held it high over her head like a kid playing keep-away. "You know how I said I'd figure you out in less than a week?" Val said teasingly, "I think I just have."

"Oh really?" Nick said, grinning, "Prove it."

"You're a proper gentleman." Val said, matter-of-factly, as she pulled money out from her purse, "A regular knight in shining armour. You're into the old-school kind of romance. You like taking care of a girl, making them feel special." She looked slyly at him, and fluttered her eyelashes. "Am I getting close?"

Nick hid a smile. "Give me the cheque, Val. I'm paying for this."

"And why would you do that?"

"Because I'm a gentleman?" Nick smiled back, politely. Teasingly.

Val refused to be baited. "Come on, Stokes. I know your game."

"I brought you out for breakfast." Nick spread his hands over the table. "Just breakfast." He smiled. "Besides. You didn't ask what kind of car I drive."

"I know what kind of car you drive," Val said, rolling her eyes. "A Tahoe, standard issue, same as everyone else in the lab." She paused, then grinned. "But do you know what I drive?"

Nick frowned. "No, what do you drive?"

The waitress came back, and Val handed her the money and the cheque. The waitress gave Nick a strange look - as though she'd expected him to pay - before taking the money and walking off. Val grinned - almost triumphantly - at Nick.

"We could have at least gone Dutch if you didn't want me to pay for the whole thing," Nick said, with a shake of the head.

"Maybe next time," Val said, rising to her feet and slinging her purse over her shoulder.

Nick also rose to his feet. "Hey, wait." Val turned back. "Do you need a lift back to the hotel?" Nick asked.

Val shook her head wryly. "No, thanks, I can catch a cab."

"You don't need to do that." Nick said, catching up to her. "The Monaco's not that far from here, is it? Let me walk with you."

Val rolled her eyes. "Next thing you know, Nick, you'll be helping an old lady cross the street."

"Oh come on," Nick grinned, "You're not old." Val aimed a playful punch in his direction, which he dodged.

The two of them walked down the streets together in the early morning sunshine. If either of them felt the heat, neither of them showed it.

"That was nice," Val said, eventually. Nick smiled at Val, but she wasn't finished talking. "Breakfast, I mean. Best bacon and eggs I've had in a while."

"Oh…" Nick smiled, a little more forced than before. "Really? I think Denny's is better."

Val snorted, "If I wanted Denny's I could get them back home." She looked back up the sky. "But this was nice."

"Well, it was nice that you were able to come," Nick said, walking a bit closer to Val. She didn't notice - she was looking around the streets of Vegas, seeing them lit in a different light. He smiled at her, almost wistfully… then frowned as he remembered something. "I thought you and Sara were taking a Vegas tour today."

"Oh, well," Val shrugged, "Something came up. She had to go off and do… 'something'." She smiled. "We only had time for a quick drink in a bar, is all."

Nick smiled. _And a couple of songs, if I remember right_. He watched for a moment as Val pulled out a digital camera from her bag. "What are you doing?"

"My hobby," Val explained, "Remember? The first day we met, you asked me what I did in my spare time?" She clicked off a few shots.

"Oh yeah," Nick nodded, "Sky-photos." He watched Val silently for a few minutes as she took pictures of the morning sky. Clouds may have a silver lining most of the time, but now, in the late dawn light, they were lined with gold. After a few moments' silence, Nick asked, "What about people?"

"Pardon?" She looked over at him.

"People," Nick repeated, "You don't take pictures of people?"

Val lifted her camera to her eye again and clicked off a few shots of the sunny Vegas sky. "I don't take pictures of people."

"What, ever?"

"Ever." She turned to grin impishly at Nick. "Unless, of course, they're admissible in court."

Nick grinned back. "What about holiday shots, family photos?"

Val shrugged. "Someone else, like my mom. I am exclusively a sky photographer." She lifted her camera to her eye again.

A woman screamed.

Something fell out of the sky and landed on the pavement with a wet thud. Pedestrians gawked, running towards or away from the accident, depending on how close they were or how close they wanted to be. Traffic screeched to a halt as both rubberneckers and concerned citizens tried to stay on the road.

Nick didn't need to hear the screams of onlookers to tell him what had just happened. Someone had jumped from one of the hotel rooms, falling to their death at street level. A suicide. He looked over at Val, who had lowered her camera and was staring in horror at the gathering crowd. She seemed frozen, too shocked to move.

"Come on," Nick said, grabbing her hand. Together, they ran towards the crowd… and to the body of the jumper.

* * *

**A/N**: Watch my obligatory 'No fluff please, I'm angsty!' moment. Someone dies in the first three minutes of CSI... why not in the fanfics? Lol. More coming soon, as well as more fluff, angst and dead bodies. 


	2. My Mind Misgives

**Disclaimer**: CSI belongs to Bruckheimer, Shakespeare owns Romeo and Juliet, Jodi Picault owns _The Pact_.

**A/N**: It helps if you've read _Tunnel Vision _and _Desperate_ to know what's happening.

_

* * *

7:48 am. _

Grissom looked around, trying to look like he wasn't trying to avoid someone as he hurried through the lab. How could he forget his phone, his keys, the reports… everything! He hurried through the corridors, heading for his office. Well, there was the excuse that his mind was elsewhere at the time. And, boy, had it been elsewhere.

_Sara… How could you say something like that?_

At the thought of Sara, Grissom pulled up short. He checked around the corridors, trying to see if she was still here. She wouldn't be… her case was over. There was no reason for her to be here.

But then, hadn't she come back just to drop that bombshell? And then what? Was she still here, waiting for him? _Come on, think, Grissom, would she really hang around after you did what you did_?

"Grissom!"

Grissom jumped, almost guilty, brought back to the present by the sound of Brass's voice. The CSI turned to see the detective almost jogging down the corridor towards him.

"You're in a hurry." Brass said dryly.

"I was just leaving." Grissom said. He almost winced at that - no, he hadn't been 'just leaving'. He'd been 'just coming back to pick up everything he forgot half an hour ago', and then he'd be 'just leaving'.

"Well, don't," Brass said, catching up with Gil. "I just got a phonecall from the Mayor." The detective did not look happy. "He's got a problem that he wants you to solve."

"Me?" The mention of the Mayor was enough to push thoughts of Sara from Gil's mind for a while. "Why me? Why not Ecklie?"

Brass shook his head. "Because Ecklie and his crew are still busy dealing with multiple multiples. Because you're a better CSI than Ecklie'll ever be. Because you solved that missing supermodel case so quickly and saved the Mayor a major headache."

"And what better a way to repay his loyal servant," Grissom said dryly.

Brass frowned at Grissom. "I'm going to presume that's Shakespeare, and move on." He looked dark, and unusually serious. "The Mayor wants this case to get solved and go away, Grissom. They call Las Vegas 'Sin City' because of the gambling, not because of the kids. Tourism doesn't need this. The Mayor doesn't need this. The last thing this town needs is Romeo killing his Juliet on the front page of every tabloid, giving this city a worse name than it already has."

"I thought you said you were moving on from Shakespeare."

Brass scowled. "Cut the quips and get your whole crew here. You're going to have a few sleepless nights - days, rather - on this one. It's already been botched up on our side, so you guys are going to have to work fast to smooth it all over."

Grissom stared. "Jim, what happened?"

Brass sighed, and pointed to Grissom's office. "I'll explain in there. We don't need Ecklie or his buddies hearing about this just yet." The detective and the entomologist hurried to Grissom's office, Brass's anxiety and tense mood already affecting Grissom. What could have happened that would make the Mayor call for his help?

_

* * *

7:52 am. _

Brass seemed unable to keep still. He paced back and forth in the small space of Grissom's office like a tiger in a cage. Grissom sat down and waited.

"At three am this morning," the detective said, still pacing, "Desert Palm admitted two teenagers, two seventeen-year-olds, into the ER." Brass paused in his pacing to close his eyes and sigh. "The girl didn't make it. But the boy did." He resumed pacing. "Chris Harte and Emily Gold - two good, bright, upstanding kids, head-over-heels in love with each other, with their futures way ahead of them - apparently left their homes last night with the intention of performing a double-suicide at an abandoned fairground."

"The Romeo and Juliet you mentioned." Grissom frowned. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Brass shrugged. "Well, what happened was the gun went off, and Emily took a bullet through the brain, and Chris got head wound that knocked him out. The police arrived before he could come to and turn the gun on himself. Or so he says."

Grissom frowned, tapping the tips of his fingers together. He watched Brass pacing for a moment, then asked, "So why is this such an important case? Teen suicides are common enough…"

Brass stopped pacing. "Because the Mayor says it is. And like I said, Gil, the PD is going to take a lot of flak for this. We've ruined the case for you, and you're going to have to do your best to salvage it." The detective took a breath, forcing himself to calm down. It didn't work; a vein stood out on his neck. "Detective-Sergeant Marrone, wonderful cop as she is, took things into her own hands. She went to the scene, saw the blood, the booze, and the gun, and jumped to her own conclusions." Brass paused in his pacing to grip the back of the chair in front of him, speaking directly to Grissom. "She told the parents of the dead girl that Chris killed their daughter. In cold blood."

Grissom removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Brass was right - this case was just made much more difficult. With the parents of the victim firmly believing one thing, it could compromise any evidence gathered. If there were any suicide notes or anything which could have shown why the two teens decided to commit suicide, a protective parent would destroy them. A parent's denial of the truth in order to protect their child was often the biggest hindrance in a case.

In the silence that followed Brass' announcement, the detective exploded in anger, though his anger was not directed at Grissom. "She deliberately breeched protocol! You would have thought that ten years in the force would have taught her something, but no… Marrone has to be number one in Vegas and solve the whole case herself." Brass fumed. "I'm looking forward to making her explain her actions to the Mayor. You know, sometimes transfers just aren't worth the trouble they cause."

Grissom sighed. Best to get down to business, get this whole mess started now before it got any worse. "So who's working the scene now?"

"Warrick."

"Wait a minute…" Grissom frowned. "Warrick went to the scene? Without my authorisation?"

Brass spread his hands wide. "It was kind of urgent, Gil! I needed someone from your team there!" Brass frowned. "Besides, I paged you a dozen times and left you at least four messages." Grissom cleared his throat, beginning to explain that he'd left both his pager and his cellphone in his office, but Brass waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, I know. You don't read your messages. If Catherine were here, she'd either chase you down or take over for you. But she's in Hawaii for another four days so we're going to have to deal without her. And we're already up the proverbial creek with neither boat nor paddle."

Grissom folded his hands. "I gather that the best is yet to come."

Brass nodded, smiling a thin-lipped smile. "Yeah. The reason the Mayor wants this to go away fast is because the Hartes and the Golds happen to be good friends of his… As well as a large percentage of the population. This is going to hit the fan in a big way, Gil. The Mayor wants this case to be solved and ghosts to be put to rest. ASAP and faster."

Grissom nodded and rose from his seat. "Alright. I'll call the rest of the team and get them working on this."

"You do that," Brass said, pulling out his phone and putting it to his ear. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some ass to kiss. This is not going to get smoothed over by itself. Oh yeah," Brass added, almost as an afterthought as he left Grissom's office, "And good luck." _You'll need it._

Brass didn't need to say the last part aloud - Grissom was thinking the same thing himself.

**

* * *

A/N:** If this story seems a little incomplete to you at any time, it's because I had originally intended to put in paragraphs of Jodi Picault's work, but that would be a breech of both copyright laws and of Jodi Picault's own wishes. So, just a story based on the story, then. And this chapter here had two sections I had to take out… oh well. I don't wanna get in trouble. :P 


	3. Blind Is His Love

**Disclaimer**: _The Pact_ belongs to Jodi Picault, Shakespeare wrote _Romeo and Juliet_ and CSI is owned by Jerry and other rich people.

**A/N**: I think I'll start adding the quotes now… If it's not allowed, let me know.

_

* * *

A woman's hopes are woven of sunbeams; a shadow annihilates them.  
- George Eliot,_ Felix Holt 

_

* * *

8:01 am._

Grissom walked down the corridors, a man on a mission. The Mayor wanted this to go away, fine. He'd make it go away. He'd find the truth, bring it to light, let the victim speak. And then the case would go through court and justice would be served.

Easier said than done.

Grissom halted mid-stride and stepped back. Two familiar figures were in the layout room, one leaning over the table, examining a shirt with a magnifying glass; the other leant against the wall, trying not to yawn.

"What are you two doing here?" Grissom asked. Two heads snapped up to stare at him.

"Oh, hey, Griss," Nick waved wearily. "Didn't think you'd still be here." Val also waved, but turned her attention back to the bloodstained shirt without saying anything. "Suicide jumper," Nick explained to his boss, who had raised an enquiring eyebrow.

"He didn't jump." Val said, smiling. "He was pushed." Nick rolled his eyes.

Grissom frowned; whatever was happening here, it was going right over his head. "So, you assigned yourself this case without my permission?"

Val lifted her head, startled. "Well, we were there when he hit the pavement…"

Nick shrugged, and spoke over the top of Val. "Ecklie just walked up, saw us there, and handed us the papers."

Grissom frowned. "Ecklie _gave_ you this case?"

Nick nodded, his frown just as perplexed as Grissom's. "Weird, I know."

"Isn't Day Shift already stretched to the limit with all those multiple murder case?" Val asked absently, tweezing something off the shirt and bagging it. "Or maybe he's just trying to get out of the work on another case?"

"Valerie, you don't know Ecklie," Grissom warned. "He let you two have this case for a reason." Grissom paused for a moment to let his words sink in. "Just be careful. He could be trying to get you in trouble with the DA for taking over one of his cases. Or something along those lines. When processing this suicide jumper…"

"Murder victim," Val corrected. Nick sighed heavily and shrugged at Grissom. Grissom got the impression that Val had been arguing with Nick for a while about this one. Grissom didn't envy him.

"… this murder victim, then," Grissom amended, prompting another sigh from Nick, "'Wisely and slow'."

"'They stumble that run fast'," Val said, not taking her eyes from the shirt.

So the temp knew Shakespeare. Interesting. But there was little time for Grissom to be impressed - his beeper went off. Warrick was back from the scene. Without another word Grissom turned and was gone.

* * *

Grissom found Warrick in the Evidence Room, signing paperwork and logging in what he'd found at the scene. Grissom stood in the doorway and waited. 

Warrick didn't even turn around, but he knew Grissom was standing there. "Did the kids make it?" He asked.

"One of them didn't." Grissom said. "The girl."

Warrick put down the pen and turned away from the boxes of evidence he'd gathered. "Well, a .45 to the head wouldn't leave you with much chance of survival, would it." His voice was heavy, laden with fatigue and sadness.

Grissom frowned at Warrick. "You sound tired."

Warrick nodded. "I am, but that doesn't mean I did a half-hearted attempt at the scene. I've got everything - photos, samples, the gun…" He sighed heavily. "But this is one case I'm not looking forward to doing."

Grissom nodded. "I know. The Mayor…"

"Forget the Mayor," Warrick interrupted calmly, barely controlling his temper, "I'm more worried about these kids and their families." He looked up at his supervisor. "When did you get in?"

"About twenty minutes ago," Grissom said, his face a blank mask. Focused on the case at hand, thoughts of Sara barely entered his mind. "I'm going to go with Brass to the hospital to interview the survivor."

Warrick sighed again. "We really need everyone working on this. I can't do this alone."

Grissom nodded, and turned to go. "Call Sara, then. Tell her to come in."

"What about Nick? And Val?"

Grissom shrugged. "They're working on another case right now. Ecklie went over my head." He'd have to confront Conrad sometime today - the Day Shift Supervisor would be spoiling for a fight. Especially after word got out that the Mayor asked Grissom's team to help with this double-suicide case first. It wasn't going to be pretty.

"But I haven't finished logging this in yet," Warrick frowned, jerking his thumb over his shoulder to indicate the evidence he had brought in. "Couldn't you do it?"

_Sara, standing in to doorway to his office, her arms by her sides. A tender, slightly bashful smile on her face. Breathless, like she'd been running. That single statement…_

"No, Warrick. I can't."

**

* * *

A/N**: Wondering what's going on? Blame Nerwen and Tinuviel for the ending of _Tunnel Vision_. Ubiquitous fluff, I tell you. 


	4. The Bottom Of My Grief

**Disclaimer**: The Pact is Jodi Picault's, Shakespeare wrote Romeo and Juliet, and CSI is owned by the rich people in television.

_

* * *

8:27 am _

After only five minutes of examining the personal effects of the dead man, Nick and Val had a name and an identity: Joseph Hanwood, 32; electrician from Bismarck, North Dakota; a girlfriend back home. Val checked her watch as Nick resealed the evidence and packed it away.

"How long does it take for a body to get to the morgue in Vegas?" She asked, sounding very much like she was griping.

"It's only been five minutes, Val." Nick reassured her. "Doc Robbins is probably on a break right now, seeing as we're between shifts. When the body of the jumper gets processed, we'll be the first to know."

"He didn't jump." Val said patiently. "He was pushed."

"So you keep telling me." Nick turned back to face her. "Val, it was a suicide. Joe jumped off a building and landed on the pavement. It's an open-and-shut case. What makes you think otherwise?"

"I have my reasons," Val shrugged, her lips dancing like they wanted to break out into a grin. She checked her watch again. "Maybe we should go down to the morgue; I don't like how this is taking so long." She pursed her lips in thought.

"Yeah, okay." Nick raised an eyebrow, wondering at Val's ability to change the subject so quickly. "Or maybe we could just wait for someone to page us."

Val opened her mouth to object, but Nick's beeper went off.

"Well," Val grinned, "Speak of the devil."

Nick checked his pager, and hid a smile. "Funny, I don't remember talking about Grissom."

"What?" Val frowned.

Nick help up his pager. "He wants us to meet in the Break Room."

"Why?"

"I don't know," Nick said, trying and failing not to smile. "Let's go find out."

* * *

_Women would rather be right than reasonable.  
_- _Ogden Nash_, Frailty, Thy Name Is Misnomer _

* * *

8:45 am. _

Sara kept her head held high.

It was stupid of her. She wouldn't do something so stupid ever again. Ever. It was stupid of her. She shouldn't make mistakes like that. She won't make one like that again.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

But was it her mistake? She took a risk. She was the one who stepped out of her comfort zone to spill her guts to… Sara shook her head, her lips twisting bitterly. She took a risk. That wasn't stupid. What was stupid was Grissom. Stupid Grissom. He could have said something, but no… he had to turn and run away. Stupid Grissom. Grissom never takes risks. He probably never did an impulsive thing in his life. And it's not like… well… they both knew, and Sara had to be the one who finally decided to say it out loud…

_Stupid Grissom_.

It didn't matter that she'd been having the same argument with herself since she left the lab. It didn't make her feel any better, but it was somehow satisfying… in a childish kind of way.

Sara turned the corner and saw Greg, Warrick, Nick and Val hanging around in the Break Room. Laughing and joking. All of them bore signs of tiredness, but they were trying to wake each other up, and keep each other awake. Friendships formed in trying situations always end up being the strongest of all. It was like Val was becoming part of the family.

_What?_ Sara stopped in her tracks. She stared; were her eyes deceiving her? She looked again. There was no mistaking it.

_Val, you liar_!

Warrick looked up and saw Sara coming towards the Break Room. She didn't look happy. "Good morning, sunshine," he grinned, waving his bandaged hand, "Sleep well?"

Sara grunted and headed for the coffee pot. She deliberately looked away, keeping her eyes down, so she wouldn't have to look at her friends. Or Val.

_Liar. She set me up. She knew this would happen. She just thinks she can waltz in here and screw up our lab… She said it herself, she's the Patron Saint of Screwed Relationships… I mean, if I hadn't taken her 'advice', Grissom wouldn't have taken off, and I wouldn't be feeling like crap…_

Val frowned once at Sara, as though sensing her dark mood, but another one of Greg's jokes distracted her.

"A priest, a rabbi, and a jockey walk into a bar…"

Val dismissed Sara's scowl to lack of sleep, but couldn't help but be a little concerned. Something was up with Sara. Perhaps she'd ask her about it later.

"And then the rabbi says, 'Well, what is that supposed to mean?'"

"I know this one." Nick grinned.

Greg looked vaguely annoyed. "Do I steal your thunder, Stokes? Shut up and lemme tell the joke."

"And then the priest says," Nick grins, interrupting, "Not a damn thing…"

Greg scowled. "You're doing it wrong. The jockey says 'I haven't a clue' first of all…"

Val laughed. "And the punch-line is that the jockey can't even see what's happened because…" She left it hanging.

"You've heard this joke before?" Greg looked crestfallen.

"Sorry," Val shrugged, grinning. "But if you want to impress me, Greg, you'll have to take jokes from somewhere other than smirked behind his coffee. Warrick and Val laughed. Sara drank her coffee and watched them all from the other side of the room. Almost resentfully.

_Stupid Val. Stupid Grissom. Stupid both of them._

It wasn't that she was mad at Val, it was just she felt… well… betrayed. Almost. Well, what else was she supposed to feel? Didn't Val say before that she didn't ever want to start a relationship with anyone - especially not Nick - because she was afraid of heartache? Didn't Val have those scars on her? And here she is, being all chummy with Nick… she lied. '_Workplace romance doesn't work for me… I honestly think you and Grissom have a chance…_' _Liar. You just want to mess with everyone's heads, screw us around. Some 'working holiday', Val. I bet you do this everywhere you go - and you leave destruction in your wake. No wonder you don't have any friends in Seattle. Stupid Val._

_And stupid, stupid Grissom._

Grissom came into the break room, and the laughter ended. It was time to work; and a case from the Mayor is no laughing matter.

"Thankyou all for coming back at such short notice." Grissom looked around the break room, unintentionally avoiding everyone's eyes. Especially Sara's. "As you know, this case is very important. The Mayor wants us working on it. He wants it to go away." He looked around at his team. "So we make it go away. And we don't stop working until we solve it."

"How long are we talking about here?" Greg asked, frowning.

"As long as it takes," Grissom shrugged, shaking his head. He didn't know either.

"What about us?" Val asked. "Nick and I, I mean. We're already working on a case."

"Yeah," Nick pitched in, "Does that mean our case goes on hold, or what?"

Grissom sighed. "No, you keep at your case. You solve it as fast as you can - the Mayor has our whole shift on lockdown, but that doesn't mean you two should stop what you're doing." He cleared his throat. "Al is coming back in to perform the autopsy on Emily Gold, and he knows that this case has top priority." He turned to look at Nick and Val. "So that means your… suicide jumper… won't be processed until the body of Emily Gold is."

Val looked disappointed, but voiced no complaint. Nick took another sip from his coffee, his face devoid of anything except fatigue.

"Right," Grissom said, businesslike. "Warrick, I want you to go to the hospital and talk to the survivor: Chris Harte. See if you can get some evidence off him; find out what he knows. Valerie, Nick: let me know when you finish your case." Grissom turned to Greg. "The evidence Warrick collected is your top priority. The DNA collected from the scene is waiting for you now."

"I'm on it," Greg said, rising to his feet.

"I'm going to go talk to Brass, see if he can get us interviews with people who might know why these two committed suicide. Parents, teachers, friends…" He took a breath, held it, let it go. "We've got a lot of work to do, so let's get started." He gathered up his folders and tucked them under his arm. "Any questions?" There didn't seem to be any.

Then there was a voice so quiet that everyone gathered almost missed it. "What about me?" Four pairs of eyes turned to find Sara waiting, her coffee cup empty and face blank. Grissom's eyes were the only ones that did not turn.

"What about me?" Sara asked again. "What do I do?"

"Warrick," Grissom turned to face the doorway, "Take Sara with you." He vanished out into the lab.

Sara's face creased in something that was almost a scowl, almost a sneer - but wasn't - for a moment. Then she shrugged, and looked aside, like it was nothing that Grissom had seemingly brushed her off. Like it was just so typically Grissom. She waited until Grissom was out of sight before she, too, left the break room… she just went in the opposite direction. Heading for the locker room. She smiled like nothing was wrong.

But four people knew better, and exchanged glances.

* * *

**A/N**: If you want to yell at me for taking so long between chapters, go right ahead. But I have no control over the workload in my senior year! I am at the mercy of the education system! However, suggestions, reviews and lots of cookies may make this story update a lot faster... 


	5. Whence His Sorrows Grow

**Disclaimer**: The Pact is Jodi Picault's, Shakespeare owns R+J, CSI is owned by rich TV peoples and I just write fanfiction.

**A/N**: Reviews and sugggestions make me work faster, that they do.

_

* * *

9:35 am._

Warrick and Sara walked down the sterilised corridors of the hospital, heading for the room where Chris Harte was recovering. Nurses and patients gave the two CSI's curious glances, but did not get in their way.

Warrick looked sideways at Sara. "You alright? You been pretty quiet."

Sara shrugged. Her eyes were sad. "Nothing."

"Doesn't seem like nothing to me," Warrick said, stopping in front of the door. "Talk to me."

"Some other time," She sighed. "Talking's gotten me in more trouble today than I need to be in."

Warrick raised an eyebrow. "Your fight with Val?"

Sara stared. "How did you now about that?"

Warrick gave his trademark humourless smirk. "After you stormed off, Val went after you because she was worried about you. Couple a' minutes later, she storms out and heads straight to the layout room."

"The layout room?" Sara frowned. "Why?"

Warrick barely batted an eyelid. "Because she has a case to work on. And, in case you didn't notice, whenever Val doesn't want to talk about anything, she'd rather 'get back to the case'." Warrick paused for a moment. "She also looked pretty mad."

Sara winced, but said nothing. _I'm going to have to apologise later_.

"Whatever you two fought about, I'm not going to pry." Warrick knocked on the door with his bandaged hand. "There'll be plenty of time to talk about it when we're off the clock."

_We _are_ off the clock_, Sara thought miserably. _You can see daylight_.

The door was answered by a tall blonde woman. Her weary eyes hardened with suspicion as she took in Warrick and Sara. "Yes? What is it? Do you want to talk to Chris?"

"Ma'am, I'm Warrick Brown and this is Sara Sidle," Warrick maintained his professionalism. "We're with the Las Vegas Crime Lab."

"And the detective who came before was with the Las Vegas Police," the woman said, her voice low. "What more do you people want?"

Warrick and Sara exchanged glances. A cop had already been here? "Ma'am," Sara frowned, "We were wondering if we could ask Chris a few questions…"

"Let me guess," the woman interrupted, "_'Where were you? What happened? Do you know what happened to Emily?_'?" The woman's eyes narrowed into slits - more out of anguish and the desire to protect her child than out of anger. "The same questions that woman asked three hours ago? No." She folded her arms. "I'm not going to let you interrogate Chris again. Not now. He's been through too much already."

"It's okay, mom," A voice creaked weakly from inside the room. "Let them in."

The woman looked torn - she looked back over her shoulder, to the bed where a prone figure struggled to sit up. He was wearing hospital scrubs and a thick layer of gauze was wrapped around his head.

"It will only take a minute," Warrick said soothingly.

Finally, the woman sighed, and reluctantly stepped aside for Sara and Warrick to enter. There was a man asleep on a chair in the corner, half-leaning against the wall, his face anguished as he slept; the hospital bed was occupied by a trim handsome teenage boy. His hair poked through the bandages, blonde and unkempt.

"I'm Chris." The boy said. His eyes were filled with pain, but not for himself. "Whatever you want to know, I'll tell you."

Warrick sat on a chair close to the bed, notebook in hand; Sara hovered near the doorway. Chris' mother - Augusta (or Gus as she preferred to be called) eyed the two CSI's warily.

"How you feeling, Chris?" Warrick asked.

Chris gestured to the bandages on his head. "Sore. Tired." He paused, took a deep breath. "And… and guilty."

Augusta Harte tensed. Sara glanced at the woman, gauging her reaction.

"Guilty?" Warrick frowned. "Why?"

"Because I couldn't save her." Chris whispered. "I tried to stop her but I couldn't save her. And now Em… she's…" Chris' Adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed, "She's dead." Tears welled up in the teen's eyes, but he wiped then away with the back of his hand.

Warrick took a breath. "Chris, could you tell me what happened?"

"I already told that detective," Chris whispered, confused. "Why do I have to go through it again?"

Mrs Harte glanced at the sleeping man in the corner, as though thinking about waking him up.

"Please, Chris," Warrick said. "We need to know this."

Chris took a deep breath and tried to steady himself. "Emily and I were going to kill ourselves. Together. We went out to the carousel, and we took some Canadian Club."

Warrick dutifully took notes. Chris' mother closed her eyes and sighed; Sara didn't envy the woman for having to hear this a second time. _But why weren't we told that an officer had already been here?_

"I took my father's gun, and we… were going to kill ourselves. Together."

The man in the corner shifted slightly, and Sara realised that the man - Chris' father - was only pretending to be sleeping. He was just listening… silently. Wanting to hear if there was a change of the story?

"What happened?" Warrick asked Chris.

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. I don't remember. All I know is…" His voice cracked for a second, he had to clear his throat. "All I know is, Em is dead, and I'm still here." His eyes grew sad and distant. "And I don't know why."

Warrick looked up at Chris' mother, then back at Chris. "Did you two…"

"Fight?" The man in the corner said, "No, detective, he's been asked this question already." The man sat up, frowning slightly. "Don't you have enough? Why do you have to keep questioning our boy?"

Warrick looked at the man, and explained patiently, "Please, Dr Harte, I'm just doing my job."

The man nodded miserably, and rose to his feet. "Aren't we all." He gave a meaningful look to his son - who kept his eyes on the bedsheets - before stepping outside. Mrs Harte bit her lip, trying to decide whether to leave with her husband or stay with her son. She chose to stay.

Warrick turned back to Chris. "Did you and Emily… get involved this evening?"

"You mean have sex?" Chris looked at Warrick frankly. Warrick, a little thrown by Chris' bluntness, nodded. "Yeah," Chris affirmed, "Yeah, we did." Chris glanced at his mother. "We did."

Warrick asked to take the boy's fingerprints - he complied. Warrick also took samples from under Chris' nails and swabbed the boy's hands for traces of GSR. Augusta Harte just watched, silently, but looked offended that such procedures needed to be carried out.

Mrs Harte sat down in the chair her husband had vacated, and held tight to her son's hand, as though to comfort him; but Chris did not hold on to her. Warrick looked up at Sara, indicating he had everything he needed. Sara, however, felt the need to ask the boy one final question.

"Chris?" Sara cleared her throat. "Why did you decide to commit suicide?"

Chris looked up at Sara, confused that she would ask such a question. "Because Emily wanted to." He said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Mrs Harte stared at her son, her hand slowly releasing his. Warrick and Sara also stared, their faces twisting with emotions they didn't both to hide.

"And why did Emily want to commit suicide?" Sara asked.

Chris looked down. "I don't know." He whispered. "I mean, I might have known… But now… she's gone."

Warrick looked over the bed at Mrs Harte and nodded. He smiled at Chris, but the boy was already gone. He was staring at his hand - his left hand - as though remembering something. Warrick and Sara left quietly.

"He was wearing scrubs," Sara said softly once they were outside. "We need to get his clothes."

"Hopefully they didn't throw them out," Warrick said, his eyes half-lidded and his face unreadable. They accosted the next nurse they found, who led them to the room where Chris' personal effects had been kept.

Within five minutes, they had the clothes. And all the evidence that was on them.

_

* * *

Ave, Imperator, morituri te salutant: Hail, Emperor, we who are about to die salute you.  
- __Suetonius_

_8:49 am_

Grissom pulled up short outside Brass' office. He'd heard Brass lose his temper before. Even through the walls of the detective's office, Brass sounded like Zeus' own avatar.

"You deliberately breeched protocol!" He thundered. None of his anger was lost on the woman sitting stiffly in the chair in front of Brass' desk, her back to Grissom. She made a muted reply, which just seemed to set off Brass even more.

"And you should have _stayed_ there!"

The woman's voice rose, indignantly. "With all due respect, sir…"

"You're new to Vegas, so I'll lay down the law." Brass slammed the palms of his hands on his desk. "You may have worked for the Feds, but that don't mean jack down here. This is your second murder case in ten years, and you had no idea what you were doing. I don't know what kind of hero you're trying to be, but it's not working. The Feds may have cleaned up your messes…" The rest of Brass' voice faded into mumbles and snarls through the glass. The woman in the chair barely moved.

Grissom decided to turn away to wait. There was no need to eavesdrop anymore.

Two cops came down the hall, too involved in their own conversation to notice Grissom.

"Ten years is nothing to be sniffed at, you know what I'm saying? Even if it was a desk-job, that amount of time is still impressive."

"I kinda feel sorry for the new girl, though. First night on the job and she screws everything up."

"If you ask me, Marrone did the right thing."

"That's not what the nerds would say."

Grissom cleared his throat, and the two cops finished their conversation, guiltily, but kept walking to their destination. Grissom frowned slightly, irritated. _They still call us 'nerds'_.

The door to Brass' office swung open, and a brunette in uniform stormed out, head held high and a flush to her ears. She stomped off and didn't look back. Grissom waited until Brass had sat down before knocking and letting himself in.

"Hey, Gil," Brass waved wearily. "Come in, take a seat." The detective rolled his shoulders. "Man, I need a drink."

Grissom jerked his thumb over his shoulder to the way the woman had exited. "May I presume that was Sergeant Marrone?"

Brass growled. "Yeah. And I had such fun chewing her out." He shook his head. "But, unfortunately, I can't take her off the case. I haven't got the manpower. I may not like what she's done, but I need her on the case."

Grissom sat down and waited.

"She remind you of anyone?" Brass asked.

Grissom's eyes tightened. "I really couldn't say."

"Culpepper, maybe?"

Grissom nodded slowly. The thought had crossed his mind.

"Well, that's who she seemed like to me. But, hey, them feds all seem the same after a while." Brass sighed. "Enough about Marrone. We have a problem."

"Another one?" Grissom raised an eyebrow.

Brass smiled politely. "You must think this case is jinxed."

"I don't believe in jinxes."

"I thought you wouldn't." Brass steepled his hands. "But I just thought I should let you know that we're going to have to arrest that boy."

Grissom stared. "What?"

Brass shrugged, helplessly. "The Mayor wants answers, Gil!"

"We haven't had this case for more than a few hours!"

"I know that. The Mayor knows that. But there was a leak to the Press." The lines on Brass' craggy face creased further as he gave a weary sigh. "And the take on the Romeo and Juliet story was that Chris killed Emily. We're going to have to arrest him. For his protection… as well as for the evidence."

"He could be completely innocent, Jim," Grissom protested. "If you arrest him now, he'll have that black mark on his record for the rest of his life. Besides, you can't arrest anyone without evidence!"

"Marrone went to a DA."

Grissom swore.

Brass nodded. "That's exactly what I said." He shrugged, "My hands are tied, Grissom. The DA told the Mayor about Marrone's conclusion, and the DA wants the Mayor to do something." He paused, and let out a sigh through his teeth. "One more thing - Chris turns eighteen today. And many happy returns to the poor kid."

There was a very pregnant silence.

"If he's convicted," Grissom took a breath, "He'll be tried and punished as an adult."

Brass nodded, then stared down at his desk, as though wishing he could somehow make this problem disappear. But that was Grissom's job.

And so Grissom got to it.


	6. As Desperate An Execution

**Disclaimer**: The Pact is Picault's, Romeo and Juliet is Shakespeare's, and CSI is Bruckheimer's.

**A/N**: I seriously need to spend some Starbucks Saturdays on this thing, otherwise it won't get done. Nerwen, Tinuviel, I miss you guys so much! Come back to visit sometime!

_

* * *

The body says what the words cannot.  
- Martha Graham _

_

* * *

8:52 am. _

"That was quick," Jenna said dryly, "Anyone would have thought you were waiting for a page from the morgue."

"Well, we," Nick shrugged, gesturing to himself and Val, "thought that our case didn't have high enough priority. Grissom said Mr Hanwood wouldn't get processed until the body of Emily was."

The coroner shrugged helplessly. "Day Shift has backlogged the place with all their cases."

"The multiple multiples?" Val raised an eyebrow, but there was no humour in her tone.

"Yeah," Jenna nodded, "So many bodies, so little time. And we're running out of room in here." She led the two CSI's over to a body draped with a white sheet. "So as the only coroner in the room - aside from David over there," she gestured to the bespectacled CSI cutting open one of the corpses with gusto. Nick frowned slightly, but let it slide. _He loves his work_, he thought. "I'm calling the shots," Jenna continued, "And I say that this body has to be processed and sent out of here ASAP, or faster."

She pulled back the sheet. Val looked away.

"My thoughts exactly," Jenna commented dryly. "Not a pretty sight. This is what happens when about 170 pounds of human being meets the pavement at high speed. Head-first."

"Do I even have to ask cause of death?" Nick said, glancing at Val. The red-head gave him a wry look.

Jenna ignored the exchange. "You should. It's pretty unusual for a suicide jumper."

"What?" Nick frowned. Val did the same, but she went around the other side of the body, and stood next to Dr Williams.

The coroner pointed to the man's head and neck - or what was left of it. "Cause of death was blunt force trauma. Cracked the skull and snapped the neck. Your Joe Hanwood died instantly."

"So how does that make this an unusual suicide?" Nick frowned.

Jenna pointed to the man's stomach, cut open not by the fall but with the precision of a surgeon's instruments. "Stomach contents."

Val frowned, and peered into the bloody mass of the man's organs. "I don't see a stomach in there…"

"Course not," Jenna said, grinning, "Because it's in here." She held up a silver bowl. "Careful," she warned, passing it to Val, "Don't spill it."

"Thanks," Val said, though whether she was sarcastic or thankful, Nick couldn't tell. Val held the bowl over the body, so that Nick could also see what was left of the man's last meal.

"I'm going to guess that that was room service," Val said, disgusted. "And from last night, judging by the rate of decomposition."

Nick frowned playfully at Val. "Decomposition? In a stomach?"

Val pulled a face. "Have you got a better word for it?"

"How about 'digestion'?"

Jenna pulled a wry smile. "Are you two enjoying your conversation over dinner?"

"Ha. You're _dead funny_, doc." Val rolled her eyes and managed to look faintly disgusted.

Nick pulled a face, then peered closer into the bowl. "What are those white things?" Nick asked, taking the bowl from Val and pointing out the small capsules.

"I sent it to Trace," Jenna said, readying her tools for yet another autopsy, "And the results came back in record time. Valium, sodium thiopental and ethchlorvynol."

Val's head snapped up. "That's a lot of sedatives for one person to be taking." She paused, frowning thoughtfully "Ethchlorvynol isn't exactly a sedative of choice - it's usually given out as a last resort by doctors if a patient is allergic to other sedatives. The negative effects of ethchlorvynol outweigh its positives by a long shot." Val rattled off a list of side effects. Nick blinked - when Sara or someone did something like that, it sounded like they were quoting a textbook. Val did it with the causal ease of a professional. Nick picked up the words 'nausea', 'skin rashes', 'fever', and 'hallucinations', among other things.

_Note to self_, Nick decided, _Don't use ethchlorvynol._

Jenna frowned, perplexed. "I was just about to say that - or, at least, something along those lines. How do you know about it?"

Val shrugged. "I worked in the medical field for a while." She handed Jenna the bowl of stomach contents. "So, cause of death is blunt force trauma from landing on the pavement, right?"

Jenna nodded. "Without a doubt."

"Could the hallucinatory effects of ethchlorvynol made him jump from the window?" Nick asked, trying to redeem himself.

"I don't think so, Nick." Jenna raised an eyebrow. "I doubt the man would have been able to even move." The coroner shook her head, then looked up at Val. "David's already taken swabs, samples and everything you guys need from this corpse." She handed them a box full of evidence samples. "You'll have to take them to Trace, Tox and DNA yourself, but we did most of the work for you."

"Thanks," Nick said, taking the box. "We'll get on it." Val smiled at him, as if still teasing him for being a gentleman.

"Anytime," Jenna said, waving them away.

"So… you worked in the medical field?" Nick struck up a conversation as he and Val left the morgue. "What as?"

"Surgeon."

Nick stopped in his tracks. "What?"

Val turned back to look at him, and tucked a wayward strand of red hair behind one ear. "I was a surgeon. Not a head surgeon, mind you. Assisting." She walked on.

Nick got over his momentary shock and continued walking, keeping pace with Val. "A surgeon. So, you have diplomas and degrees galore in your room?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"But you're a CSI now?" Nick frowned good-naturedly. "Why? It can't be about the money - you wouldn't have left a six-figure job just to poke around crime scenes."

"No," Val agreed, "It wasn't about the money. It never was." She raised an eyebrow at Nick. "But it was a _seven_-figure job."

Nick gaped.

"Are we going to get back to the case, or what?" Val grinned. "You drop those off first, then I'll meet you in AV. I think there's something you need to see."

"And what would that be?"

"Further proof that he didn't jump - he was pushed." She headed through the corridors, peeling off her gloves as she went.

Nick shook his head despairingly, but headed for the labs.

* * *

_8:52 am._

Emily and Chris' clothes were sprayed with blood. Sara tried not to look at the stains as she dressed two dummies. She tried not to think about how there used to be two kids in these clothes, and how one of them was now dead, a .45 in the brain. She tried not to think about how the survivor must feel. She just tried to look at the clothes.

"There'd be GSR over both of these two," Warrick said, rubbing his chin. "Close range with that kind of gun? It's a pity the hospital cleaned them both up. We would have been able to find out who was holding the gun."

The blood was… horrible. There was so much of it. "If they'd planned to die together, wouldn't they both have been holding the gun?"

Warrick shrugged, but his eyes were dark. "Its cases like these I hate the most."

The collar of the boy's shirt smelt of cologne and blood and there was a smudge of pink gloss on one corner from the girl's lips. "We're not going to get anything conclusive from this. All the bloodstains show is that they were close together when the gun went off."

"The bullet went through her head, and the gun recoiled and took a chunk out of his head."

Sara stepped back from the clothes, burdened and tired. "How could they have wanted to die? They were so young!"

"Maybe that's the reason." Warrick said. He stifled a yawn. "Listen, I'm kinda tired - I'm going to get some coffee. You want some?"

Sara nodded and made a noise. Warrick left the room and ambled through the corridors, leaving Sara with the dressed dummies and questions that could not be answered.

_What did you want?_ Sara mentally asked the dummy dressed in Emily's clothes. _What did you want that you couldn't find? What couldn't you solve by living? What made you think that death was the answer?_

Her eyes flickered to the 'Chris' dummy. _And how could you agree with her?_

"The DA thinks that Chris Harte murdered Emily Gold."

Sara turned slowly. Grissom was standing in the doorway, awkwardly tapping a folder in the open palm of his hand, avoiding Sara's eyes. He didn't want to speak to her, not really - but he was making the effort. It was very… un-Grissom.

"Really." Sara nodded. "Well, that's interesting."

"What do you think happened?"

The words were out of Sara's mouth before she could stop them. "Oh, so _now_ you're talking to me? Whatever happened to avoiding…" Grissom looked pained. Sara frantically tried to back-pedal. "Grissom, I didn't mean…"

Grissom just walked away, an inscrutable look on his face but a hurt look in his eyes.

Sara swore softly, and rubbed at her face. She was tired, that was all. She needed a cup of coffee badly. She needed to wake up… and she needed to concentrate on the case at hand. The issue with Grissom would sort itself out in time. They'd go back to ignoring each other, and nothing would change.

It wasn't a very heartening thought.

The 'bodies' of Chris and Emily stood silently in the dim light, saying nothing and revealing even less. Sara walked around the dummies, trying to find something, anything, which could help.

Directional blood flow, spatter patterns, and blank spaces told Sara one thing and one thing only. Chris Harte and Emily Gold had been lying side-by-side, almost on top of each other, when Emily had taken the bullet to the brain.


	7. I'll Not Endure Him

**Disclaimer**: Shakespeare, Jodi Picault, business executives. Must I repeat myself?

**A/N**: It's getting harder and harder to find chapter names for these things! And sorry it took so long. School wants my juicy brain-marrow.

_

* * *

8:59 am. _

Nick came into the AV room and found Val and Archie chatting to each other.

"I prefer something a little smaller. Features are pretty sweet, though."

"I know," Val agreed, "But I got it as a present, you know? Sometimes, I'd like to get one with a little more space, a bit more detail, but I just can't justify the expense. Besides, I spend almost all my money on plane tickets."

Archie grinned. "It is a nice camera, though. But why do you travel so much anyway Val?"

Val shrugged. "I just do. Kinda my hobby. I always wanted to see the world, and I'm almost completely there…" She noticed Nick. "About time! What took you?"

Nick shrugged, coming forward. "Greg again. He wanted to chat for a while." He looked at the display screen. "What am I looking at?"

"Clouds, mostly," Archie said. Valerie's camera was linked to one of his computers. The screen was filled with ever-changing masses of clouds, in various colours, shapes and sizes.

"Why are we looking at clouds?" Nick raised an eyebrow.

Val smiled, but didn't take her eyes off the screen. "Remember when we were out at the crime scene, and I was taking photos?" She paused, then her voice went business-like. "Archie, stop here."

The clouds on the screen were peach and orange, and framed almost poetically in-between the fingers of several skyscrapers.

"Pretty," Archie noted. "So what are we looking for?"

"Go to the third shot after this one." Val was frowning at the screen. Archie clicked a button, and the image shifted slightly. In front of the black finger of the centre skyscraper was a white figure, suspended in space.

Nick and Archie both stared; Val herself looked a little surprised.

"Nice shooting," Archie commented, impressed.

"Thanks," Val said, giving a smile before concentrating again.

"So, now what?" Nick frowned. "We have the picture of the jumper. What does that prove?"

Val frowned. "Does that look like the kind of way someone would jump out of a building to you?" The figure was on his side, facing the building as he was falling.

Nick treated this as a trick question. "You mean, if he was conscious?" He gave a smile as Val turned back to raise an eyebrow. "With all those drugs in his system, he couldn't have been operating properly, right?"

Val put her fingers to her lips and frowned. "Go back one more, Archie."

The white figure was higher up the building now, but was still falling sideways.

"One more."

"What exactly are we looking… oh."

Val's eyes flew open, and she grinned in triumph. "Magnify that!"

The figure in white was halfway out an open window… sideways. Someone had him in both arms and was about to throw him.

"I don't believe this." Nick stared. "You knew that he didn't commit suicide because of a photo you took?" _Amazing_!

"Yeah," Val said, a grin in her voice, "I know I should have told you, but this way was so much more fun."

Nick felt a presence behind him and turned. Ecklie stood in the doorway with his hands on his hips, staring at the screen in a predatory manner.

"Who's bad?" Val cheered, punching a fist in the air. "See? What did I tell you?" She turned to Nick, grinning, then saw Ecklie in the doorway. She sobered at once. "Oh. Ah, good morning, sir."

Ecklie inclined his head at the screen. "What's this?"

Nick cleared his throat. "This is the case you gave us this morning. The jumper case."

"Only," Val added, gesturing to the screen, "He's not exactly a jumper, as you can see."

Ecklie nodded, his eyes hard. "What evidence have you gathered so far?"

Nick frowned, but Val answered: "Clothing, personal ID, stomach contents…"

"Have you logged it all?" Ecklie asked in his usual manner.

Val frowned, as though personally insulted. This time, Nick fielded the question. "Of course we did. Why?"

Ecklie gave a small cold smile to the two of them, then turned his attention to Archie. "Find out what floor that murderer is on."

Archie turned back to his computer, and zoomed and cropped until he had narrowed down the possibilities to three floors.

Val frowned again, looking between Archie and Ecklie, "Ah, sir, what's… what are you doing?"

Ecklie looked at Val in a way that was borderline arrogant. "My team's free. They need another case. And, seeing how this was Day Shift's case in the first place, I think you have done enough work so far. Besides, doesn't Grissom need your help with some case already? The kind of case which the Mayor said to take care of? We'll take this one from here." He almost smirked. Val's jaw dropped, and Nick looked stunned. Ecklie ignored them both. "Archie, I want printouts of all the photos, and backup copies. They may not be admissible in court, but they've sure helped this investigation." The he walked out of the room without even a backwards glance.

"You've got to be kidding me." Nick clenched his fists. "You have got to be kidding."

Val ground her teeth and said nothing. Archie handed her back her camera with an apologetic shrug.

_

* * *

Wise men say nothing in dangerous times. _

_- John Selden_, Table Talk

* * *

_9:06 am_. 

Grissom didn't like the way Ecklie was smirking to himself. Or the way he was heading towards his office so fast. Ecklie was looking for him. Grissom turned the corner and headed in the opposite direction, hoping to avoid that weasel for at least five minutes or so.

Unfortunately, Sara was coming around that same corner. She looked up at him and opened her mouth to speak.

"Grissom, can I have a word?"

Grissom winced, and turned around. "Of course, Conrad. How can I help?"

Ecklie looked even more smug than usual. "One of your CSI's, along with the temp from Seattle, have been working on a case for the last hour or so. They've been working hard, and that's very commendable. You wouldn't believe the headway they've made on the case."

Grissom cleared his throat and tapped his folder in the palm of his opposite hand.

"Anyway," Ecklie forged on, taking the hint, "I'd just thought I'd tell you that you now have two more CSI's to help you on that case of yours. You know, that one the Mayor said you should do."

Grissom's head tilted slightly. "Do I detect a hint of jealousy, Conrad?"

Ecklie looked slightly sour for a moment, but he didn't let Grissom ruin his day. "I just thought I should tell you before the head of the lab decided to give you a call, Gil." He smirked and sauntered off.

"Meetings with Ecklie are always such fun, aren't they."

Grissom turned back to face Sara. They held each other's gaze for a while before Grissom sighed, and motioned to his office with his folder. "Can I have a word with you, Sara?"

Sara nodded, and followed after him, biting her lip.

Once in his office, Grissom retreated to the safety of his desk and sat down. Sara remained in the doorway, arms folded, and waited while Grissom cleared the space between his piles of paperwork. He had to something to do while he gathered his thoughts.

"About this morning…"

"I want to talk about what happened earlier," Sara said at the same time.

They made eye contact for a moment before Grissom knocked a pile of papers over. While he scrabbled to neaten them, he managed, "I'm not sure if that's a good idea."

Sara gave a reluctant smile. "Actually, I just came to tell you to forget about it."

Grissom frowned, and looked up. This time, it was Sara who couldn't meet his eyes.

"It was just me being stupid. I don't even know why I did it. I think it would be best just to forget I said anything."

Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. Her lips formed the words so beautifully it took a moment for Grissom to understand what she had said. _Forget it? What? Why?_

Sara shrugged awkwardly, and managed a insincere smile. "So… is everything ok between us?"

Grissom tilted his head, frowning. "Since when were things not okay?"

Sara just matched his gaze until she turned to go, leaving Grissom's question unanswered and Grissom himself sighing inwardly. He knew the answer, but he knew that she wouldn't say it. If the shoe had been on the other foot, he wouldn't have been able to, either.

Hell, he'd run away.

With a sigh, Grissom removed his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on at the back of his skull. He needed sleep. But he couldn't afford that right now. He had an obligation to solve this case, regardless of how he felt.

He got up slowly, as though weighed down by the day's events, then headed to the breakroom to get a cup of coffee.

Nick and the temp from Seattle were having a heated discussion in the corridor. Grissom hung back and watched them as they too made their way to the breakroom.

"… was our case!" Valerie said, indignantly. "He had no right to do that!"

"It's out of our hands," Nick said, trying to calm her.

Valerie snorted. "Does he always do that? Go over your heads and… and screw up your cases?"

Nick smiled apologetically and shrugged. "He's not our favourite guy, but…"

"Exactly!" Valerie said. She shook both fists and growled - a short dramatic movement that captured her irritation eloquently. "I don't even know who he is, and I still think he's a jerk!"

Nick laughed at that one, then looked up. "Hey, boss, what's up?"

Grissom came out of hiding and smiled slightly. "I was just about to get some coffee. What about you?"

Nick nodded. "Yeah. We're both pretty tired. Need a bit of a pick-me-up. 'Specially since Ecklie took over our case." Val just snorted in disgust and looked down the corridor, where Ecklie was talking to a member of his team. He had a ream of photographs in his hands.

"Ah, yes," Grissom said, noticing the direction of Valerie's murderous stares, "Ecklie told me you had willingly surrendered your case to him. Very noble of you to hand it over without a fuss."

"Sarcasm?" Nick smiled, knowing his boss well enough.

Val just sighed. "I hate leaving things half done. I'm going to be a nervous wreck for weeks."

"Not only that," Nick added, "But he didn't exactly ask very nicely."

Grissom only smiled diplomatically. "Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad to have you two on this case." His smile faded. "There is a lot of work to be done in a very short time, and we're under a lot of pressure." He paused for a moment, and considered the two CSI's. "Perhaps you should take a break for a while."

"Naw," Nick shook his head. "We'll be fine."

Grissom looked at Valerie, and raised an eyebrow. "What about you?"

Val sighed, then managed a weak smile. "Just a ten minute break, maybe."

Grissom nodded. "I want both of you focused on this. I know you're both probably tired, but…" His eyes went hard, "This is an important case. And we are under extreme pressure."

Nick and Valerie didn't even need to answer; Grissom didn't need to wish them good luck. They all knew what they had to do.

Grissom continued on for coffee, while Val cast one last glance over her shoulder at Ecklie.

"It's still not fair," she said, though the fight had gone out of her voice.

"It's okay, Val," Nick said, resting his hand on her arm. "It doesn't matter."

Valerie continued to watch Ecklie. She smiled and nodded at the man when he turned around. Something in Ecklie's eyes was suspicious - surprised? Val looked down and saw Nick's hand still on her arm. When she looked up, Ecklie was looking away. Perhaps it had been nothing…

"I'm going to get a coffee. Want one?" He asked. She shook her head mutely, prompting a shrug and an encouraging smile from Nick before he walked on. Val turned and went in the opposite direction - towards the lockers.

Her arm was burning where he had touched her.

* * *

**A/N**: The Sara and Grissom scene was courtesy a Starbucks C-and-CSI meeting Nerwen and Tinuviel and I had, back when they were still in Singapore. Blame them for that :) Reviews would motivate me to stop doing homework. 


	8. What A Scourge Is Laid

**Disclaimer**: Flick back a few chapters to see who all the credit belongs to, if you're that desperate.

* * *

_9:10 am_

Sara looked up at the sound of footsteps, and saw Valerie standing in the doorway.

"Oh," Valerie said, composing her face into a neutral mask. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb…"

Sara quickly wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Don't mind me. It's nothing."

Val managed a wry smile. "A lot of things today are 'nothing'." She excused herself and moved to her locker, and pulled a hairbrush and a handheld mirror out of her bag. She shrugged apologetically at Sara. "I guess you'd be the person I'd have to talk to," she said, setting the mirror in the locker and beginning to brush her hair, "About the Gold case?"

"The Gold case?" Sara frowned. "I thought you and Nick had a different one to work on."

Val shrugged, but her face showed irritation for a moment. "Ecklie from the Day Shift decided it'd be a good idea if he took over." She snorted. "Jerk."

Sara had to smile at that. _Too true_. "Well, Warrick is heading back out to the crime scene soon, if you want to go with him."

Val turned her eyes to Sara, her own face emotionless. "And what about you?"

"I'm going to the Gold's place. Perhaps we can find some evidence as to why she might have committed suicide."

Val nodded sagely, her hairbrush not pausing in its strokes. "Right. Well, give me a minute or two to wake myself up, and then I'll come with you." She turned back to the locker, then added, "And you might want to fill me in on what exactly has happened so far." There was a long pause, the only sound being that of Val's hairbrush pulling through her hair.

Quietly, Sara asked, "Are you still mad at me?"

Val continued to brush her hair, but she sighed. "I'm not mad at you, Sara. I'm not that kind of person." She sighed again.

"Listen, Val," Sara stood up to be eye level with Valerie, who turned to look at her, "I'm sorry about what I said before. It was really out of line. I mean, I shouldn't have taken it out on you… You were just trying to help."

Val smiled faintly. "It's okay." Her smile turned wry. "I didn't mean to lose my temper at you either. Stupid of me." She shrugged. "But I meant what I said today." Her face was open and sincere. "I honestly think it will work between you and Grissom, I really do. Just give him time."

Sara shook her head. "I already took care of that just now. We worked it out."

Val lifted an eyebrow, smiling. "Really? Well, that's good news." Val examined herself critically in the mirror, checking for flyaway strands of hair.

Sara nodded mutely, eyes turning away. "I guess so…" She lifted her head again. "What about you and Nick?"

The hairbrush paused for a split-second. "Not going to happen." Her voice was unusually stony.

"Why not?"

Val set down her hairbrush and closed the locker - slow, deliberate movements. "You were right," she said softly, "I shouldn't have had breakfast with him. But for once…" She shook her head, then turned to face Sara. "You're lucky, Sara, to have the people you work with as your friends." She smiled slightly. "And that you guys here are letting me be your friend." Her face suddenly became hard and blank. "I lost all my friends the day Daniel… died."

Sara remembered the look that had been on Val's face only last night when she had told Sara and Warrick about her scars - the pain, the remorse, the sadness. It was still there tonight, but muted, a mere shadow of what it had been earlier, and tempered with something else - guilt.

_Survivor's guilt_.

"He was the sweetheart of the lab," Val smiled distantly. "Everyone loved him. So when he… when he was gone… everyone needed someone to blame."

"But that's not fair!" Sara burst out.

Val shrugged half-heartedly. "It was my name on the suicide note. They all got to read it before I did - I was unconscious on an operating table. Daniel dedicated his death to me. But I was alive. And noth…" Val's voice caught, and she cleared her throat. "_Nothing_ can change what happened. And everyone needed someone to hate." She shrugged.

"That's just stupid." Sara said.

The redhead managed a smile. "What, having breakfast with Nick? Yeah, maybe. But, hey, we were there when someone was murdered, and we helped crack that case, so maybe it was a good thing."

"Not that. I mean, your friends hating you. That's just stupid." Sara couldn't imagine people to be so petty, so cruel.

Val gave a sighing-smile. "I know. That's why I travel so much. I don't like working in Seattle much."

"So why don't you leave?"

Val didn't answer. She just stared evenly at Sara.

And it was Sara who realised. "Because you'd feel like you were betraying him if you left, right? Because you're trying to make up for… losing him."

Val's eyes were sad. "Something like that, I guess." She started to turn away.

Gently, Sara whispered, "And is that why you don't want to let yourself like Nick?"

Val paused, standing in the doorway, her back to Sara.

"I'm sorry," Sara said, moving forward and putting a hand on Val's shoulder, "I didn't mean to offend you again…"

Val just nodded. "Layout room in five minutes," she said, her voice even. "Bring the evidence from the Gold case."

They split up, going in different directions: Sara to the morgue, Val to the washroom.

* * *

_Truth is the only safe ground to stand upon._  
- _Elizabeth Cady Stanton_, The Woman's Bible 

_9:12 am_

Warrick poured himself a cup of coffee - not Greg's Blue Hawaiian, unfortunately, but coffee is coffee - then sat down opposite Nick. Nick was looking through the evidence log, acquainting himself with the case.

"When's the coroner's report coming through?" Nick asked.

Warrick just shrugged. "When it's ready, I guess."

Nick nodded in wry agreement. "Yeah. They're pretty busy in there this week."

"Yeah." Warrick sighed and sipped at his coffee. Nothing more needed to be said.

Nick turned a page, and frowned thoughtfully. "So, what's your take on this case, anyway?"

Warrick shrugged again, and settled himself more comfortably in the chair. "Well, my first impression when I was at the scene was murder."

Nick looked up.

"Yeah, I know," Warrick took another sip of coffee, "But then, I'd just had some maniac come at me with a kitchen knife this morning. Even a couple of beers couldn't chase that away." He looked at his bandaged hand and gave a slightly amused smile. "But anyway, as I began to process the scene, it seemed more and more like what that kid had said it had been. A botched double-suicide."

"Hrm." Nick looked back at the manila folder.

"What, hrm?"

"Just hrm," Nick said, trying not to smile at the look on Warrick's face. "I guess I've yet to come to a conclusion yet."

Warrick nodded. "Yeah, better wait until you've seen all the evidence." He looked up and out through the windows. "Looks like Sara's heading for the layout room. Come with?"

Nick nodded, and the two CSI's rose to their feet and cut through the lab.

"Good morning sunshine!" Nick grinned at Sara as she unpacked the boxes containing all the evidence.

Sara managed a faint smile. "Good morning to you too," she said. "Give me a hand?"

Warrick and Nick helped her unpack, placing everything out.

"Where's Val?" Nick asked, nonchalantly. "I thought she was with you."

Warrick glanced at Sara, who, to her credit, managed to keep herself from doing the same. "She'll be here in a minute. She just needed a break."

Nick nodded his understanding, then turned his attention to the crime scene photos. "A carousel? They went to that old funfair to kill themselves?"

"Not exactly romantic." Sara agreed softly.

"No," Warrick put his two cents in, "But it's quiet. Secluded. And it's a great place to watch the sunset over the desert."

"I take that back, then," Sara said, a little sadly. She tapped a manila folder gently in the open palm of one hand.

Warrick pointed at the folder. "What's this?"

Sara sighed. "Coroner's report. Even though a lot of the evidence on Emily Gold's body - like GSR and blood evidence - was washed off by the hospitals, there were still a few things that the coroner could tell us about the poor girl. I haven't read it myself yet, but I plan to."

"What did I miss?" Val appeared in the doorway, adjusting her hair minutely. Neither Warrick nor Sara missed the way Nick's head snapped up, or the smile that briefly appeared.

"Crime scene photos, evidence collected," Nick explained, as Val came up to the table frowning with thought. "And Sara has the coroner's report."

Val merely nodded, then looked up at Sara. "Mind if I have a read?"

"You might want to read this first," Nick said, holding the case file out to Val. She took both folders gingerly, then leant up against the wall and started reading, looking up every now and then at a photo or a piece of evidence mentioned in the file.

"Warrick," Sara asked, "When you went to process the scene, who was the officer on standby?"

"Vega," Warrick said, folding his arms.

Val looked up for a second, pointing to the file. "It says here the officer first on the scene was Detective-Sergeant Anne-Marie Marrone."

"Now that's a mouthful," Nick joked, trying to inject some levity into the situation. "But why wasn't she there when you were, Warrick?"

Grissom materialised in the doorway. "Because she went to the hospital and interrogated Chris Harte of her own accord." The head of the Graveyard shift moved into the room, putting on his glasses as he did so, his team falling in around the table. Val remained leaning against the wall, for a moment, then came forward to stand between Sara and Nick.

"Sergeant Marrone then went to the Gold family home," Grissom continued, making and holding eye contact with everyone. "She told them - in very indistinct terms, mind you - that Chris was a murderer. She then took her personal findings to the District Attorney and to several prominent newspapers…" Grissom sighed, knowing the faces on him were all horrified by this turn of events. "You know the rest. Now it's up to us to try and salvage this case."

"And by salvage…" Sara said wryly, keeping her eyes on the empty bottle of alcohol wrapped in a plastic evidence bag. Canadian Club, just like Chris had said. It certainly would have taken the edge off the nerves of two teenagers deciding to kill themselves… but then, it also could have been used to make a teenage girl so drunk and stupid she wouldn't have known what to expect.

"And by salvage," Grissom continued, "I mean we do the best we can."

Val closed the case file and passed it back to Nick. "So, what exactly are we trying to find, here? Do we want to prove Marrone's theory that it was a murder? Or do we believe that boy's story, that it was a botched 'Romeo and Juliet'?"

All eyes turned to her. Grissom was frowning, remembering Brass's words earlier in the day. Sara was wide-eyed, the story of Val's colleague still fresh in her memory. Warrick was nodding quietly, agreeing with Val's succinct description. Nick was just looking at Val, also agreeing, when he suddenly realised her eyes were grey-green. Not vivid, as he had thought, but muted and soft.

Grissom motioned with his hands towards the spread of items on the layout table. "We try to find the truth."

There was a deep silence in the wake of his words.

"Is there anything else we should know before we get into this?" Warrick asked.

Grissom looked like he'd swallowed a lemon. "Yes. One more thing." He steeled himself, met everyone's eyes once more. "No matter what you find, no matter whether you prove murder, suicide or otherwise, Chris Harte is being arrested in half an hour."

"What?" Nick frowned. "Why?" Sara said, at the same time. Val and Warrick had just stared.

Grissom's already slumped shoulders slumped a little more. "Because it's his birthday today. He's eighteen years old." He paused again. "And therefore, legally an adult." He looked at all the horrified and disbelieving eyes pinned on him. He shrugged; a Pilate washing his hands of all that had been done but wishing he could have done something… anything…

"Then we get to work," Val said softly.

Grissom nodded. "Yeah." He sighed, then turned and vanished back the way he had come. In the layout room, his team swiftly organised themselves, their voices, their gazes and their motions tense with the expectations suddenly dropped on them.


End file.
